First impressions
I wasn't supposed to be here.
The moment I stepped into the gym, I knew I'd made a mistake.
It smelled like sweat and leather, the air thick with the sound of fists hammering into heavy bags. Every thud made me flinch, like the walls themselves were shuddering. Men's grunts mixed with the metallic squeak of jump ropes and the muffled crack of gloves colliding.
My sundress didn't belong here. My notebook pressed against my chest didn't belong here.
And if my grandmother ever found out where I'd gotten this job, I wouldn't belong in her house anymore either.
But bills don't pay themselves, and scholarships don't cover everything. The flyer at the library had said:
Help Wanted – Front Desk / Light Office Work.
It hadn't mentioned the noise. Or the smell. Or the men with tattoos that crawled across their skin like living shadows.
I walked toward the desk, heart pounding, trying to look like I wasn't ready to bolt.
"Hey," a voice called out, sharp and playful at the same time.
I turned, and that was the first time I saw him.
Kade Rivers.
I knew his name before he even opened his mouth. Two girls on the bench near the ring whispered it like it was dangerous, like it was a warning. He was taller than I expected, lean but built, his fists wrapped in tape, his pale skin inked with dark roses, barbed wire, and something winged that stretched across his forearm.
And his eyes—storm-gray, sharp as broken glass—landed on me like he already knew what I was. Out of place. Soft. Curious.
"Well," he said, smirking, "didn't know angels hung out in gyms."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Angel. No one had ever called me that before.
Good girl, yes. Quiet, yes. But angel? Not like that.
I forced my voice steady. "I'm just here for work."
He tilted his head, sweat dripping down the side of his face, eyes never leaving mine. "Work, huh? Thought angels spent their time in heaven, not behind a busted front desk."
I gripped the clipboard tighter, praying my face wasn't as red as it felt. "Guess we don't always get what we expect."
That made him laugh. Low and rough, like gravel sliding over steel.
And something about that laugh curled in my stomach in a way I didn't want to name.
The gym manager—Mr. Lopez—stepped out of his office then, clapping his hands to get Kade's attention. "Break's over. Back in the ring."
Kade wiped his face with his taped hand, but his smirk didn't fade. His eyes flicked to me one last time, like a promise or a warning—I couldn't tell which—before he turned and walked away.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The sound of the punching bags filled the room again, steady and violent, like a heartbeat I didn't belong inside of.
I told myself I was only here for a paycheck. I told myself not to notice the tattoos, the gray eyes, or the way his laugh still echoed in my chest.
But deep down, in the place I never spoke out loud, I already knew:
Trouble had a name.
And it was Kade Rivers.
